


Bury My Ghost

by seratonation



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, Relationship(s), Soulmates, Soulmates - Seeing in Color
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2489582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seratonation/pseuds/seratonation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if everyone was born color blind, until they met their soulmate? What if you were told that when you meet The One the world will turn into color and everything will be perfect?</p><p>Steve has always seen in color, until Bucky falls. When they meet the Winter Soldier on the bridge there is a flash of color, but it takes time for Bucky to come back, and still, things are not perfect. </p><p>Between trying to get used to a new world, and new people, they both have to learn that not all relationships are equal and soulmates doesn't always mean happily ever after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bury My Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the [awesome art](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2485805) by [diadelphous](http://archiveofourown.org/users/diadelphous)!!
> 
> Inspired by [this post on tumblr.](http://tmblr.co/Zt6tXy1Ej2To9)
> 
> Thank you to my betas [devilswhore_x](http://archiveofourown.org/users/devilswhore_x) and [geckoholic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic), I couldn't have finished this without you ♥

Steve had always known a life in color, as far back as he could remember. He's heard, of course, about people living in black and white until they meet their soulmate. Even his mother had told him about the first time she laid eyes on his dad - how everything had changed, become more beautiful.

He'd asked Bucky what he thought about it all, but Bucky said he already saw in color. He just shrugged it away, so Steve did too. It wasn't until they were older that Steve realized what it meant, but then Bucky had already discovered girls. Steve didn't want to be the one to take that away from him. 

Then Bucky got called to war and he left, with so much unsaid that all Steve could do was crack a joke and hope that Bucky would come back.

***

“He's alive, I know it!” Steve yelled, resisting the urge to throw his pencils against the wall. 

“You can't know for sure,” Peggy said gently, “if you go and-”

“I can and he is,” he said. Then, more quietly, like an admission of guilt, “everything is still in color, if he died wouldn't it all change? I never paid enough attention but I know that much.”

She pulled away, but to her credit her hesitation was barely noticeable. She stood up straighter, almost to attention. “So what are you going to do about it, soldier?”

And Steve had a moment to think that he could have spent his life with her, even if it meant living in black and white until his death.

***

It took two days before Steve registered that things were not in color anymore. Two days before he had time to stop and process what happened. Two whole days before he realized that Bucky was gone for good. 

Everything after that became a blur. There was no going back, only forward. There was only the war. And when he was in the air, there was only one solution. His options didn’t seem like a choice at all.

The plane crashed with a jolt, and for a second he thought he might actually survive, before he realized that his leg was pinned. He pulled, but it felt like the whole console was on top of him. Then he noticed the water, rising too fast, past his ankle, up to his knee. Ice cold water helped numb the pain and still, he struggled, pulling at his leg and pushing at the console with all of his weight, without any success. 

The water was up to his chest, his hope was just starting to dwindle when he gave one good heave and was finally free. He hugged his shield to his chest and tried to wade to the top of the plane, but his feet slipped on the icy metal and he fell hard, his head ducking under water, taking in a mouthful of water for his effort. 

The plane shifted again and it was now fully submerged. He banged against the glass, tried to use his shield but to no avail. There was nothing to hold on to, nothing to push against and it was getting too cold. 

He couldn’t hold his breath anymore, and it was so cold but his lungs were burning. It was too dark and he wasn’t sure if his eyes where open anymore. His last thought was regret. He’d have liked to dance with Peggy, at least once. There was no end to the things he’d wanted to do with Bucky, and now it was too late.

***

Things were still black and white when Steve woke up. He was in too much shock to be disappointed. 

It took time to adjust to this new life. SHIELD tried their best, but he didn't know how to tell them that it wasn’t just the future he was trying to adjust to. 

He tried his best, too. He got himself some charcoals and wandered around the city. He drew and drew until he had charcoal in the ridges of his skin, under his fingernails, and he started to feel a little more human again. 

Then, just as he was finally getting the hang of this new life, just as he was thinking of ways to move forward, New York happened, and there was no time to adjust. In the space of a week he was back to being Captain America. Back to being the image, the icon, but he still didn’t feel like himself. 

***

After things settled down, he went to Fury and got himself a new job. He tried to convince himself that they were fighting a different war now. He was more useful here, in the quiet and the shadows. 

Sometimes Natasha came to missions with him, sometimes it was Clint, and it was good. It felt good to not pull his punches so much, to know he was doing well again, but things still felt off. 

He told himself that he was still trying to get used to everything. The problem was, the more he tried to immerse himself in the present, the more his past pulled on him. 

Natasha and Clint made a habit of dropping by sometimes. He had a feeling it was on Fury’s orders, but as time passed, he found he was enjoying himself with them. They helped him catch up on his list. Natasha made him watch the James Bond movies, Clint took it on himself to show him all the science fiction he’s missed out on. 

He went to see Peggy. They finally had that dance, in her nightgown, with soft music playing in the background. They used a record player instead of something more modern. Steve laughed that it was the only thing he still knew how to use with any confidence. She laughed with him, telling him that it was never too late to learn new things, and took his hand.

The next time he visited they danced again, for the first time. And the time after that too. By the fourth time she told him he had nothing to worry about, that he was a great dancer. He told her it’s because he had a great partner. 

***

Fury showed up to his house after the Lemurian Star mission. Steve was still angry about what happened on the ship, but then Fury told him that SHIELD had been compromised and everything changed. 

He chased after the assailant but he disappeared before Steve could catch up, which was new. There weren't a lot of people who could outrun him. What’s more is the person was strong, maybe as strong as Steve. 

As he watched the doctors trying to save Fury his mind was racing. He’s met a few people who could match him, but none like this. 

Next to him Natasha was having a silent meltdown. When they pronounced Fury dead she left and he followed. He knew it was all connected but no one was giving him any answers. 

Unfortunately, before he could start looking, SHIELD decided to take him out of the picture. He had hoped, of course, that things would go differently. But as he watched the team pile into the elevator, he was not surprised. Mostly, he was disappointed. 

Taking the team down wasn’t hard. What made it hard was that these people were his friends. He knew about David’s kids, and Brock’s bowling team, and Abraham’s sick father. 

It wasn’t until he was halfway to the hospital before it struck him that there was a possibility none of those things were real.

***

It was hard to think of the truth as a matter of circumstance. But after everything that had happened at SHIELD he was starting to realize Natasha wasn’t the only one who thought that way.

“Who do you want me to be?” Natasha asked, after a long pause. 

“How about a friend?” he replied, without hesitation. God knew the ones he thought he had weren’t real, and the ones he had known were real were long gone. He could count the people he trusted on one hand.

“There’s a chance you might be in the wrong business,” she said, turning to look outside the window. After more silence she turned back to him. “I have another question.”

“Okay,” he said warily, bracing himself. 

“You’re not waiting for your soulmate, are you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. 

“No,” he sighed, trying not to bristle at the question, “I already had one and he died.”

“Oh,” she said, then recovered quickly. “Well there’s no reason to mope, and not everyone follows that stuff these days.”

“What about you, do you follow that stuff?” he asked, sneaking a sideways glance at her.

She smirked. “Are you propositioning, Cap?” 

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “I’m just curious.” 

“I didn't really care about it, until he nearly killed me.”

“What?” he asked, turning to look at her fully before turning back to watch the road.

“Yeah, then he let me go and I was recruited to SHIELD instead.” 

“Clint,” Steve said, dead panned, “you’re talking about Clint Barton?”

“Yeah,” she said, and smiled fondly. “There were colors and everything, the whole shebang. We tried being together but it didn't really work. When we weren’t having sex we were trying to kill each other.” She turned to look out the window again. “Sometimes you need to take a step back, realize that not all relationships are equal. Soulmates doesn't mean happily ever after.”

***

The Soldier had been around for a long time. This the Soldier was sure of. He didn’t know exactly how long, but he was certain, just like he was undeniably lethal.

The people who gave him his orders never looked the same between missions. Sometimes they changed completely, but it was always the same story. He was important. He was needed. They needed to save the world from itself and he was the key. 

None of that mattered though. All he needed to know was the mission. And the mission was two targets, level six, confirmed death in ten hours. 

He intercepted them on the bridge, that was easy, but they proved to be more difficult to take down than he anticipated. 

He went after the girl first, but the man came at him. The shield he was using was the biggest deterrent so he got rid of it. Then the man grabbed at his mask and flipped him. He was up in seconds ready to try again.

“Bucky?” the man said suddenly, hesitating. 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” he answered, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the target. He put his gun up again but the world flickered, too bright, before settling again. He took aim and shot, but the target was moving. He was fast but the Soldier was better and soon the rest of his team, his backup, were converging on them.

He returned to the van and they took him back to base. 

He tried to ask the leader about the man and was met with more information than he could handle. The flicker in the world had left him unsettled, but he didn’t have the words to vocalize what was happening, so he stayed silent. 

The talking continued above him but this was not new. The next words, however, were. “Wipe him,” the leader said, “and start over.”

He didn’t know what that meant but his body did. He trusted his muscle memory more than anything and this was bad. His pulse rate went up, so did his breathing. When they placed something in his mouth and pushed him back his muscles tensed up and he knew he was about to die. There was no other explanation. 

When the pain started he couldn’t hold back the screams. It seemed to go on forever, searing through his whole body, before finally death took him.

***

The Soldier watched the man fall into the water. He knew the mission was almost complete, even as everything around him was collapsing. 

But when the man didn't come back up, the soldier panicked. This was wrong. This was not how it was supposed to go. He let go, and dove neatly into the water. It was cold and cloudy and stung at his eyes. He broke the surface and gasped for air. 

Then he saw it, a shadow that didn't match, a shade of blue that didn't belong. He dove under again, grabbing for the target - Steve, a voice whispered in his ear - and pulled him up. It was impossible to know if he was alive or dead while they were in the water so he focused on getting to shore. It was not easy, with his metal fingers tangled in the man’s clothes and his other arm uselessly clutched to his chest, but he made it.

As he pulled the man to shore and his mind started to clear, the world started to fade. The blue of the man’s clothing started to seep away and everything was black and grey again. The man coughed, tilting his head as water spilled from his mouth and he started to breathe. 

The Soldier felt himself relax and he walked away, now that he was sure the man was going to survive. They never gave him a name. He never needed one. But James Buchanan Barnes seemed like a good place to start. 

***

Steve woke up with a start and then flinched. He tried to breathe without pulling at his stitches any more than he already had, but it was hard not to take gulps of air. In his dream he'd been drowning again, and this time no one came to save him. 

Sam was stirring next to him and he realized it was because the monitors were going haywire. He forced himself to take slow breaths but it was too late.

“Steve?” 

“I’m okay,” he mumbled. “Just a nightmare.”

“Drowning again?” Sam asked, sitting up to face him. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m fine, go back to sleep.”

“You want something? Some water?” Sam asked, despite looking like he was half asleep himself. 

“No, I’m alright, I promise,” Steve said. He found his heartbeat was slowing down, and it didn't hurt to breathe so much anymore. 

“If you’re sure,” Sam said around a yawn, and lied down on the couch again, turning his back to Steve. Within seconds he was snoring softly. 

Steve listened to him and tried to will himself back to sleep too, but was less successful. Eventually he pushed the covers back and got out of bed, unhooked what he could, grabbed his drip stand, and shuffled out. 

The guard at the door jumped awake but Steve put up a hand, palm outwards. “At ease, Michaels,” he said. “Just me, just going to stretch my legs.”

“Do you need-” Michaels started. 

Steve smiled gently. “I think I’ll be alright, I won’t be too long.”

Michaels hesitated a moment more and then relaxed. “Ten minutes,” he said, “then I’m coming to look for you.”

“Deal,” Steve said. 

The moment he turned a corner he found Natasha leaning on a wall, arms and legs crossed. “How many exit points have you found?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied.

She raised an eyebrow at him and pushed off the wall, lowering her arms by her side. “I counted twelve,” she said.

“Seven,” he admitted, “I don’t want to hurt Michaels, he means well.”

She gave a small nod, not surprised. “Did you take your wounds into account?”

“No,” he said. “I’ve done more with worse.”

“You should give it more time,” she said, “just to make it a certainty.” 

The darkness flickered for a second, the greys turning into colors, her red hair stark against the pale green walls. 

Steve squeezed his eyes closed, pressing his fingers into the bridge of his nose. 

“You alright?” He heard her coming closer. 

He opened his eyes and it was back to normal. His shoulders sagged but her worry was still evident. 

“He’s out there,” he said. “He’s starting to remember and I want to help him.”

“They’re still too few and far between,” she said. “It’s too soon. You don’t know if it will trigger the mission programming again.”

“He saved me,” he insisted.

“It’s still a failed mission,” she said, “which will only make his next attack more intense.”

“When?” he said. “How long do I have to wait?”

“Until you’re healed,” she said. “Until there’s more color than black and white, more Bucky than Winter Soldier.”

“I don't know if I can wait that long.” 

“Then at least until you’re better, until they release you from here,” she said.

“Then help me,” he said. “I need intel, I’m tired of sitting around doing nothing.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “Now go back before Michaels comes looking, your ten minutes are up.”

He nodded and turned to walk away. She was gone by the time he had reached the end of the hallway. He gave a nod towards Michaels and went back into his room. 

It was easier to fall asleep this time, with the knowledge that Bucky was still out there, and he was going to do something about it soon. 

***

Despite Steve’s urgency, they both agreed to visit Tony before heading out. 

Steve spent a lot of time in his room, looking over the files Natasha gave him. Each page was worse than the last. Every element of the methods they used, both for the arm and the programming, were detailed. The timeline and the missions that had been confirmed to be him, as well as suspected missions, were also listed.

And despite all of this there were chunks missing. The Russians sold him, like he was a thing, and then there was nothing for years. Silence. 

It left Steve so frustrated he would often lock himself away in the gym or in his room. Sometimes he would leave the building completely just to try and ground himself. 

The color flashes were becoming more frequent, but they never seemed to last. The longest was a couple of hours one afternoon. Steve wanted to leave right then but neither he nor Sam were ready, and they didn't have anywhere to start. 

Sam was doing well though, he knew. He was working with Tony on getting his wings back. Things had gone from bickering over power sources, crash landings in the workshop, to actual laps around the outside of the building. 

When the laps were done he came in, looking windswept but happy. “Let’s go,” he said. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Good,” Steve said. “Tomorrow, get your stuff packed.”

He spent the day pouring over maps and papers, deciding on where to begin and places to pass through. He’d kept a close eye on the news, and by the end of the night he’d decided on a few paths they could take. 

When he went to the kitchen he found Pepper and Tony sitting at the central island going over something holographic. 

“Sorry,” he said, “I was just coming for some milk.”

“That’s okay,” Pepper said, swiping the holograms closed. “You should join us. Sam said you're heading out tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he said, taking up the offer and sitting across from them. “I have a few options set out, if one falls through we have others.”

“You believe he’ll want to come back?” 

He nodded. “We’re- He’s- If it’s really him, I think I can convince him, if he has his memories back.”

“And if he doesn't?” Tony asked. “Listen, if he was _my_ soulmate, then he’d be just like me right?”

“No…” Steve said slowly.

“What’s the official - we'd complement each other?” Tony said. “Either way, that person will know what I’m like, they’d be expecting it, they’d know I’m not going to go out searching for them, and they’d probably come to terms with that.”

“That's not relevant here, Tony,” Steve said, then he looked between the two of them. “You two aren't matched?” he asked.

“We’re not young anymore,” Pepper said gently, “all this nonsense about soulmates..." She shrugged. “Sometimes you just have to appreciate what you have.”

“It sounds a lot like settling,” Steve said. 

“It’s not,” Tony said. “Soulmates are meant to be made for each other, connect with each other and understand each other on a basal level. Are you saying me and Pepper don't have that? It’d be easier with a soulmate, maybe, but we've known each other for close to 15 years now, we have that.”

Pepper smiled. “We've never done things the easy way.”

Steve smiled back, looking down at his half empty cup. “I’m not ready to give up on him yet.”

“And you shouldn't have to,” she said, sending a look to Tony. “I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Tony said, accepting the light peck on the lips.

After she had left, Tony turned to Steve, suddenly a lot more focused. “Is it true,” he said, “was he involved with the car crash that killed my parents?” 

Steve looked straight at Tony. “It was heavily implied, and for the time in which he was awake it makes sense,” he said, “so yes, I think he was involved.”

Tony’s jaw clenched, and he stood up. “Just make sure you bring back Barnes, and not the Soldier.”

He left before Steve could reply. Steve forced himself to finish the milk and made his way back to his floor. 

***

They head west. They hit every Hydra base they can find. Some had been ransacked already, and that gave Steve hope. It became obvious what Bucky was planning.

They stayed at motels mostly, and after the first month they all started to look the same. After two months the trail was starting to cool and they both felt it. 

“Let’s go out,” Sam said one night, as they returned to the dull yellow room with black patterns on its wall. 

“Out?” Steve asked, only half paying attention. He dropped his shield at the door and collapsed on the bed. 

“Yeah,” Sam said, “out, let's do something that's not sitting here and eating sad take-out while we watch CNN.”

Steve had to laugh at that, despite his exhaustion. “Okay,” he said, “you have anything in mind?” 

“Yeah, there’s a diner down the road,” Sam said. “I thought we could go eat something. There's a bar a couple of blocks from there, we could have a couple of drinks, you know, let off some steam.”

“I don’t have steam,” Steve said reproachfully.

“Dude, you are all steam,” he said, “let’s go, my treat.” He grinned hopefully and Steve knew he’d lost the moment Sam started talking.

The diner was too bright, the fluorescent lights reminding Steve of the hospital. But the food was good and Steve had to admit, it was much better than spending the night at the motel. 

Afterwards they walked to the bar that Sam had pointed out, pulling their jackets close as the leaves crunched under their feet. 

They sat in a booth and had a couple of drinks. Sam asked about art school and the colors, and in turn he told Steve about his sisters and his nieces and nephews. After a while Steve noticed Sam looking over Steve's shoulder, so he stopped talking and smiled.

“You should go,” Steve said, “start a conversation.”

“What?” Sam said. “No, I don't-”

“Go, are they looking back at you?” 

“She hasn't stopped glancing this way,” Sam said, looking hopeful.

“Then go,” Steve said, “strike up a conversation.”

“What about you?” 

“I’ll be fine,” Steve said, raising an eyebrow and smiling. “Go!”

“Alright,” Sam said, standing up. “But if it goes south you have to buy me a drink.” 

“Scouts honor,” Steve said, laughing.

“Of course you were a scout,” Sam said, walking away. 

Fifteen minutes went by, then thirty, so Steve got up, paid their bill and walked out, waving at Sam on the way to the door. Sam waved back, broad grin on his face as he talked to a pretty brunette at the bar. 

The walk the motel room was longer than he remembered, and he got the strange feeling he was being watched. He zipped his jacket closed and resisted the urge to put his hood up. It was a small town and it looked like Hydra had recently vacated.

He made it to the room without incident, but he made sure the door was locked and the windows sealed, and his shield was within reach. 

He lay down in bed but instead of sleeping he propped himself up on the wall and pulled out his sketchbook. Even though these days it was more color than grey, he still used his charcoals. There was something about Bucky as he was now that lent itself to the medium. 

And he couldn't stop drawing Bucky. Sam had commented curiously on him bringing things to draw with. But as time progressed, and he noticed Steve’s subject never changed, he’d started to look worried. 

He wasn’t sure how to explain that he couldn’t think about anything else anymore. He was glad for the support and companionship, and he understood Sam’s need to let off steam, but he couldn’t stop thinking about this. He couldn’t help but wonder and hope that it would all be over soon.

He fell asleep around midnight. Sam got back in the small hours of the morning, Steve heard him come in but went back to sleep. They headed out a few hours later, just as the sun was starting to rise.

***

A month later, in a town on the outskirts of Denver, Steve walked into a small church. He’d checked the parameter, and they’d reached another empty Hydra base. It felt like the closer they got, the colder the trail. 

There had been less and less bases, but each one they hit in the last month had been empty. Some looked like they had been abandoned voluntarily, as if in a rush, others had not been so lucky. 

He hesitated just inside the door of the old building, warm despite the light dusting of snow had started to fall outside. It had been too long since he’d done this, wasn't sure what to do next. 

He saw a priest at the end of the hall and decided to get into a pew before the priest approached him. He put his hands together and lowered his head. His mind was silent for a moment and he realized he didn't know how to start. So much had happened, so much still needed to happen, it was hard to know where to begin. 

He felt someone slide into the pew next to him. Before he could open his eyes, the voice made him freeze. “You still believe in this stuff?”

“Sometimes it’s nice to know I’m not alone,” Steve replied. “How long have you been tracking us?” 

“Since St Louis.” 

Steve nodded, not surprised. He opened his eyes but still couldn't turn to face him. 

“You’re not going to stop following me, are you?” Bucky asked.

“No,” Steve said, finally turning to look at him, searching, “I need to know you’re okay, that you know who you are and-”

“I do,” he said, “mostly.” 

“Why now? Why the sudden-”

“I had some things to take care of,” he said. “It’s done.”

Steve paused, afraid to ask but he had to, needed to. “Do you want to come home with us?”

“Yes,” Bucky answered immediately.

***

They went to the closest thing to home they had. The Avengers Tower was huge, but Steve, Bucky and Sam shared a floor, and it wasn't so bad. 

Steve told himself it was for the best, that it was more secure than going back to Washington, but he felt the tension in the air. Bucky was not unwelcome, but he was definitely the outsider. He tried to convince himself it was because they didn’t know him, but Steve wasn’t sure if even he knew the man Bucky had become. 

This was still better than the chase though, he had to admit. He still drew Bucky every chance he got. From watching the television quietly, to quick sketches while he was sparring with Sam. The only difference now was that he was using colors; blues and reds and greens and gold instead of his charcoals. 

Everything was in color and it was beautiful. They visited the museum together, Bucky slipping his right hand into Steve’s left as they passed the wall that said he died. They hadn't corrected them yet, Bucky content to let everyone think he was gone. 

They visited the cemetery, and paid their respects to the Barnes’ family, and they even visited the Rogers’ plots. Bucky held onto Steve’s hand again, this time squeezing hard, his jaw set. Steve pretended to not see the tears collecting on Bucky’s eyelashes. 

He went home and drew them anyway, just a close up of Bucky’s eyes on the back of his pad. They were both trying to cope, to find a middle ground to settle into. It was just going to take some time. 

***

Bucky liked the Tower. It was secure, most importantly. It was spacious, and gave him enough exit points that he never felt trapped. 

Getting used to Jarvis was difficult at first, but seeing him interact with the rest of the residents helped ease his mind. 

Sometimes, when he was sure he was alone he would stand in front of a mirror and just look. He still had trouble recognizing himself, but he was getting better at it. He’d considered cutting his hair but the thought alone made him feel even worse. He didn’t feel like the man in the pictures at the museum. 

He’d found the best thing to do was to tie it all up - out of sight, out of mind. Sometimes he would just watch himself in the mirror and repeat his own name. 

“James Buchanan Barnes. James. James Barnes.” It sounded too foreign. “Just Barnes is alright. Just Barnes.” Better, but still not right, not exactly him, how he saw himself. “Bucky,” he tried, “My name is Bucky. My name is James, no, my name is Bucky Barnes.” 

It still felt strange, like the name didn’t belong to him, but it was getting better. The more Steve said it, the more it felt like that was who he was. Maybe in time, he would get used to it.

***

He sparred with Natasha, Steve and Sam. He was surprised that they could all hold their own in a fight. The differences in their fighting styles was what made it interesting. Natasha used his size against him, targeting his weak spots much more efficiently than he was comfortable with. 

Steve was all about defence, blocking his punches until Bucky wore himself out then taking him down with ease. It was something he used to do before the serum, before he had all that strength. It was something he would have to work on. Maybe once they were more settled he could work on it with Steve. 

Sam fought dirty. Bucky was expecting him to be all fists by his face, boxing stance but Sam fought like they were in the streets, no rules, no holding back. Sam gave it everything he had. It was refreshing, but when Bucky mentioned it, Sam just shrugged. “I need to keep up with all you superheroes.”

Bucky looked away at that. He wasn’t sure what he was these days, but he knew he wasn't a superhero.

***

It was a rare night when Bucky was awake but Steve was asleep. He didn't know how he managed to stay quiet enough not to wake him but he decided to go out for a while. He made it to the kitchen, padding softly in socked feet, but when he got there, there was already light pouring out of the open doorway. 

He walked in and found Stark with his head buried in the fridge. He froze. He hadn't been alone with Stark since he moved in and he thought Stark was avoiding him intentionally. A voice in his head was telling him the polite thing to do was walk away, but he forced it down. He had some things to say to Stark and now was as good a time as any. 

When Stark pulled his head out of the fridge, he nearly dropped the cold meat and condiments piled in his hands. 

“Fucking hell,” he said, clutching at the jars, “don’t you make sounds? Natasha said you were a ghost but this is ridiculous.”

“Don’t you sleep?” Bucky countered. 

“I do, in fact, sleep,” Stark said, “sometimes, on occasion.”

“You should relax,” Bucky said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know that,” Stark said, placing everything on the bench top. “Steve wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise.”

“I remember Howard,” Bucky blurted out.

Stark’s pause was momentary, but Bucky caught it just the same. 

“Good for you,” Stark said, starting to build a sandwich. “I hope you have better memories of him than I do.”

“I remember everything,” he said. 

Stark put down his butter knife, his head dropping down. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I wanted to apologize.”

“For what? For killing them?”

“Yes.”

“Word on the street is it wasn't really you.” 

“I’m still sorry, for your loss.”

“Is this where you tell me he was a good man?”

“No,” Bucky said. “I didn't know him as your father, I only knew him briefly. But he made Steve the way he is, and I don't know where I would be if Steve wasn't here.”

“You and me both,” Stark muttered, then in a normal voice. “Do you ever think if Steve hadn't been changed they wouldn't have targeted you?”

“Then we would both be dead, and Howard might still be alive.”

“So I guess I get to thank you or something.”

“Don't say that,” Bucky said, savagely, “don't - our lives are interconnected, whether you like it or not, the four of us.” He forced himself to relax, dropping his shoulders. “I just wanted to make amends.”

“Consider it done,” Stark said, finishing off his sandwich, “amended, all clear.”

He watched Stark leave, but didn’t move to follow. This was not how he had intended the conversation to go, and it was too late to take it back. The conversation was had. 

Instead he turned to return to his room. 

The next morning, as he was trying to focus on breakfast in the noisy kitchen, Stark approached him. “You should drop by the workshop later,” he said, “let me have a look at that arm.”

He nodded once and Stark walked away. 

Steve leaned in close. “Did something happen between you two?”

Bucky turned to him, a short shake of his head, unwilling to discuss it here. 

“No, it’s okay,” Steve said, “it's just strange, something must've happened to change his mind about you.”

He looked from Steve to Stark, who was now busy talking loudly with Bruce - about music by the sounds of it. 

Amended. All clear. 

***

He visited Tony later that day. Walked up to the workshop, and knocked on the door. Tony opened the door, looking distracted, with grease on his face and goggles on the top of his head. 

“Yes?” 

Bucky held out his left arm. “You said you wanted to look at it,” he said, “I have a few upgrades I’d like you to make.”

Tony blinked at him for a second then stepped aside. “Step into my office.” 

Bucky walked in, careful not to touch anything. When Tony followed and dropped into his chair, Bucky just stared back. 

“What would you like?” Tony asked. 

“I want you to change the sensitivity in it,” he said. 

“You want…more?” 

“Yes,” he said. “When they programmed it, I can feel pain but lighter touches I can’t feel. I need you to up the sensitivity on it.”

“Okay…” Tony replied, “but wouldn't that make the pain worse?” 

“That's the deal,” Bucky said, “you can look at it and poke at it but I need this in return.”

“Okay sure, no problem, you want to have a seat-”

Bucky pressed his fingers into the spot he knew was there and felt something detach. 

“Wow, okay,” Tony said, “let's start there, you can take it off?” 

“Yeah?” 

“That's so weird, I think I’ll need to see how it all connects to you before we tackle the connection site. Do you mind if we bring in a couple of other-”

“No,” Bucky said, “no one else, just you.”

“Okay.” Tony nodded, looking almost hungrily at his left shoulder as he clicked the arm back into place. 

Bucky pulled up a chair and sat down, turning so his left side was facing Tony. He helped him open the panel and sat back as Tony started poking around, whispering mostly to himself, and occasionally asking him questions. 

It was strangely comforting, the familiar feeling of being worked on. He could sit here for as long as Tony needed him to. This was something he knew.

***

It was Saturday morning. When Bucky woke up, Steve had already left for his morning run and wasn't back yet. He contemplated staying in the room until then but he was feeling restless. He’d slept through the night, for once, but he didn’t feel any more rested for it. He remembered the dreams but it was hard to differentiate what were memories and what were just figments of his broken mind. 

He padded downstairs for some breakfast and found Clint in the living room. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bowl of cereal, so close to the TV that he had to tilt his head back to watch. 

“That looks uncomfortable,” Bucky said, sitting next to him anyway, legs outstretched.

Clint shrugged, his mouth full. He pushed the cereal box towards him, but he declined. 

He watched the TV for a while. There was a cartoon about little blue people living in mushrooms, and apparently there was only one girl. 

They sat in silence for a while, but something was weighing on his mind. He was just contemplating how to phrase it when Clint spoke first. 

“Spit it out,” Clint said. 

“What?” 

“You want to say something,” Clint said, without turning to him, “just spit it out.”

“You were under Loki’s control?” 

“Yeah,” Clint said, almost defensive, “what about it?”

“Don't you just wish-” he cut himself off. “Never mind.” 

Clint finally looked at him, with more focus than he was expecting. “Sometimes you wish you could go back?”

“No!” he insisted. Paused. “Sometimes. I mean, don't, that’s fucked up, I know, but at least as the Soldier I had a purpose, and I didn't have to think so much, there's so much going on-”

Clint was nodding. “So many choices to make-”

“Decisions,” Bucky agreed. “I don't care about most of them, and it’d just be less messy, less crowded.”

“Messy is what makes us human, man,” Clint said. “It’s easy to be a robot, to do what someone tells you all the time, but our free will is what makes you, you. Your decisions are what make you who you are.”

“Why does that sound familiar?” Bucky asked, looking away as the show about the blue things ended and a new cartoon started, this one about some superhero dressed as a bat. 

“I read it in a book,” Clint said, dragging his focus back. “Look, the point is, it’s okay to wish for something simpler, but simple isn’t always right.” 

There was a long pause as Bucky tried to process that. He liked being efficient. Efficient was something he used to be good at, but this, all of this made him feel sloppy and inept. 

“Have you tried talking to Steve about this?” Clint asked, looking slightly worried now.

Bucky shook his head. “He wouldn't understand, I don't think. I don't want him to worry, you know? I don't want to actually go back, I just wish it wasn’t so complicated.”

Clint shrugged, turning back to the TV. “I don't know what to tell you man, being in charge of what I do is infinitely better than being a puppet. And I only had to do it for a short while, not years, you should be enjoying this freedom.”

“I’m not enjoying anything about this,” he said glumly. 

“Then you should work on that,” Clint said. “What’s the point of free will if you don't have fun with it?”

***

Sparring with Natasha was a lot like dancing, if dancing was violent and involved weapons. They’ve been at it for almost an hour and suddenly he found himself on his back again, her staff held against his neck. 

They were both breathing heavily. She smirked at him and he had a flashback, a memory of her in the same position, much younger and in black and white but unmistakably her. 

“You’re either a slow learner, or very stubborn,” she said.

“That’s what you said last time,” he told her, pushing the staff out of the way and getting up. She let him, stepping back to give him space. 

“You remember?” she asked. 

He nodded, looking away. “Just some of it,” he said, “We had something, right? This,” he pointed between them, “isn’t new, we had more.”

“Yes,” she said simply. “We did.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I remember feeling it, but I don't anymore, I don't-”

“It’s alright,” she said, “it was a long time ago, things were different, for the both of us.”

“So you were-”

“Not like you,” she said, “not like that, but yes.”

“You got better,” he said, surprised.

She let out an unamused huff of laughter. “Yes, you could say that.”

“How?” he asked, tilting his head, honestly curious.

“With difficulty,” she said. “But you have Steve, you should let him help you.”

“I don’t think he understands,” he said.

“Help him,” she said. “He’s the closest thing you have to someone who could, without having to go through it himself.”

“Because we’re soulmates?” he asked, rolling his eyes. “Meant to be, or whatever.” 

“I’ll tell you what I told him,” she said. “Not all relationships are equal. Sometimes you have to work at it, even if you’re soulmates.” He shuffled his feet and shifted his shoulders but she continued. “If it’s any consolation, he seems happier now,” she said, turning to walk away. “You might actually make this thing work between you.”

***

He woke up screaming. He knew his eyes were open but things were wrong - it was too dark, too dull. The shape of a face materialized in front of him, and ever so slowly, familiarity came back. Blue seeped back into concerned eyes, the dark grey of a shirt becoming maroon as Bucky watched.

“Steve?”

“I’m here, Buck, it's okay,” Steve said blearily. 

He nodded. He was James Buchanan Barnes, and it was okay. 

“It was just a dream,” Steve continued, leaning back as Bucky sat up and rubbed at his eyes.

“They’re getting worse,” he said in dismay. Now that the panic had faded, he could look at this more critically. 

“It won’t last,” Steve replied, “it’ll get better with time.”

“When?” Bucky snapped, “when will it get better? It’s been months, the programming has all but faded.” He took a quick breath in and let it out harshly, rubbed his face with his hands and ran them through his hair. “I’m so tired.”

Steve was upset. Despite the lingering tension, he could see that Steve was feeling just as helpless as he was. 

“I’ll be okay,” Bucky said finally, with forced calm, “you should go back to sleep.” He reached out and cupped Steve’s face in his hands, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

“You know you can talk to me right?” Steve asked, his voice still laced with worry, even as he leaned into the touch.

“I know,” Bucky said, leaning forward to rest his forehead on Steve’s, “I know, go back to sleep.”

Steve leaned in and pressed his lips to Bucky’s, just a soft kiss before reluctantly pulling away.

“You too,” he said, not breaking contact. “You should get some sleep.” He laid down and gently pulled Bucky down with him, but neither of them could close their eyes. He wanted to be kissing Steve again so he closed the gap and stole another kiss.

He shifted so his back was pressed against Steve’s chest, and curled Steve’s arm around him. Steve instinctively curled his hand around Bucky’s fingers. The heat seeping into the metal was strangely comforting and he found himself drifting off.

***

He was sitting in Tony’s workshop again, Tony’s hands knuckle deep into his bicep. Occasionally he would tell him to flex, or to think of something oddly specific. 

“I think we’re almost done here,” Tony said, sitting back. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” he said. “Better.”

“Good,” Tony said, cleaning oil off his hands with a dirty cloth. “Now, when were you going to tell Steve you’re thinking of leaving?”

“What?”

“Why are you avoiding him?” Tony asked, still casual. 

“I’m not avoiding him,” Bucky said. “I don't know if you’ve noticed, but we sleep in the same room.”

“It’s my Tower, of course I've noticed,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “And I may be far from being the best person to talk about this, but being in the same vicinity as someone is not the same as talking to them.”

Bucky didn’t reply. 

“Also tactically, it’s pretty stupid,” Tony continued, rolling away to put his equipment back in their box. “We can protect you here, you must know that. Hydra is still out there and all.”

“You sound just like him,” Bucky said.

“Please,” Tony huffed, “Steve is a much better man than I am. Steve will let you leave. But you’re one of us now-”

“I’m not one of you-”

“But you could be,” Tony said, “if you stayed.”

Bucky let out a breath and didn't reply. He was tired of waiting. He wasn’t even sure what he was waiting for any more. He just wanted it to be over.

***

Steve was fuming. Had been since Tony had spoken to him earlier, and now he wasn’t sure how to approach this. This outcome hadn’t occurred to him until now, even though it should have. He should have seen this coming, but he’d been so glad to have Bucky here, finally, that he’d been blinded.

He’d decided that they need to be out of the Tower for this, that he didn’t need a dozen eyes on him while he tried to keep his world from falling apart, not this time. So he’d asked Bucky out for a walk and then led him down a path that is usually less crowded at this time of day.

“You can’t leave,” he blurted, when he couldn’t hold it in anymore, watching the setting sun turn everything orange.

Bucky stopped walking, pursing his lips together. “Who told you?”

“No one needs to tell me,” Steve lied, turning to face him. 

“Fucking Stark,” Bucky muttered, curling in on himself. 

“Bucky, you can’t leave,” Steve repeated, not denying the accusation. Of course Bucky would see right through him.

“Look Steve, you’re still waiting to find him,” he said, waving a hand at the empty walkway. “You’re looking for the Bucky you lost and I’m not him, _I’m not him._ I’m sorry to tell you this but that guy is gone, the Bucky you knew died when he fell.”

“You think I don't know that?” Steve said, voice rising. “I know that, but you’re still my- we’re still connected, I know you see it too, don't you think we should at least try?”

“I know I owe you-” Bucky started.

“You don't owe me anything,” Steve interrupted angrily, “you never did and you never will, that’s not- Jesus, Bucky-”

“Don't-” he said, flinching, not meeting Steve’s eye.

Steve deflated, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, just- don't you owe it to yourself? You deserve good things. After everything that's happened-”

“I don't deserve anything, and you need to stop saying shit like that,” Bucky said, defiant. 

Steve clenched his jaw and pulled back. He didn't realize how close to Bucky he was standing, almost looming, despite the fact that they were almost the same height now.

“That wasn't you, they controlled you-”

“But I remember it,” Bucky insisted, clenching his fists, his left arm clicking as it tensed. “I remember being satisfied with every completed mission-”

“It was part of the programming…” he tried.

“How can you be so sure?” Bucky spat back. “How can you know?”

“Because I know you, and some things don't change,” Steve said, trying to keep calm, trying to sound gentle.

Bucky made a frustrated sound and turned away from him. “I don't understand this,” he said, “don't you get it? Everything’s changed-”

“Not this, not the way I feel about you-” 

“And if I don't feel the same way?” he asked, and it was Steve’s turn to flinch, as suddenly as if Bucky had hit him. Truth be told, that might have been easier to take.

“Fine,” Steve said eventually. “Okay, if you want to walk away, walk away. Just know that I’ll always have faith in you, I know that deep down you are still good.”

Bucky was quiet for a long time, long enough that Steve thought that maybe he’d finally gotten through to him. 

When he finally looked back at Steve to reply, Steve wished he hadn’t. “They told me I was good too.”

***

They spent the rest of the day avoiding each other. Steve realized that he didn't manage to convince Bucky to stay, but he’d done his part, said what he needed to. If Bucky needed to leave it was his choice. All he could do now was respect that. 

He gave Bucky space. He went to bed early, and pretended to be sleeping when Bucky walked into the room. Instead of sliding next to him like usual, Bucky was packing. Steve listened to him quietly try to put all his things together, cursing under his breath as he stubbed his toe on the closet door.

It took everything he had to not move, to not get up and try again, to tie Bucky down and make him see reason. Then he felt his stomach turn, that was exactly what Hydra had done. Bucky needed to leave. He needed to have that choice and Steve wasn’t going to take it away from him, no matter how much it hurt to let him go. 

Once Bucky left he felt himself relax. He knew he wouldn’t be seeing Bucky again for a long time. 

***

Steve wanted to be angry. He wanted to rage and have someone to blame. Instead he was listless. It didn't take him long to decide to move out of the Tower. There was too much room, the bed was too big, and it was all too empty. 

He moved into a small apartment, similar to the one he had in DC. He got a single bed, a couple of bookshelves and the three cups he’d bought an age ago. This place was just big enough for him. 

He joined a small gym a couple of blocks away and after a couple of weeks the owners approached him about starting a self-defense class. He hesitantly agreed. He wasn't sure he knew much about teaching, but self-defense was an important skill to have. Besides, he could use the distraction, and the pay check. 

He painted in his spare time. This time he bought colors, every single one he could find. He went out to parks, the aquarium, the lake and he paints. Sam tried to convince him to sell them but Steve wasn't sure. 

In the end he agreed because he ran out of space to store them all. Sam helped archive them before sending them off to a gallery that was more than happy to display Captain America’s art. 

He wasn't sure whether the art sold because it was any good or just because it was him. Sam assured him it was good art but the thought lingered. 

It didn't matter much, either way. He ended up drawing the same thing over and over. It seemed that the reason for Bucky’s absence didn't matter, Steve couldn't stop thinking about him.

***

The other Avengers came to visit him sometimes. Tony especially had been a surprise. He’d walked in with the Iron Man armor after a long mission and just collapsed onto Steve’s couch. 

“This is pretty comfortable,” he said, crossing his legs and leaning back. 

“How can you tell in that metal suit of yours?” 

“Look, the suit and I-”

“-are one,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “I know, but did you install nerve endings or something?”

“Look, I’m trying to be nice here.”

“I don't need you to be nice to me, Tony.”

“Pepper said you were feeling lonely,” Tony said, pulling the helmet off.

“That doesn't mean you have to be nice to me,” Steve said.

“Give me something here, Cap,” he said, “we just defeated a big bad, we should be celebrating, but you never come out with us. I’m here, let's do something that's not moping around, okay?”

“I do not mope around,” Steve said. “what if I just like my quiet time?” 

“Alright then,” Tony said. “Come have some quiet time at the Tower. We can watch a movie, it will totally be low key. Nothing loud, no- well, minimal alcohol. Pepper will be there, and Maria - I know she’s been wanting to see you.”

Steve still looked dubious so Tony tried again. “How about,” he said, “you come for a while, and if you want to leave, you can, no questions asked, no hassle, you can just get up and go.”

“Will it get you to quit hassling me?” 

“Absolutely,” Tony promised. 

Steve ended up staying for the whole movie, and for the night. It was nice, catching up with everyone, he hadn't realized how long it had been until he sat down with them. 

It was strange though, going back to his old room, now Sam’s, and realizing his room was gone. The memories were now just that, memories. 

It was nothing compared to going back to his apartment and realizing how quiet it really was. And it wasn’t like they did anything too loud or unruly at the Tower either. He sighed, put his shield down and decided that it was time to move on with his life. He was tired of always looking at the past. 

***

Steve had been having a good day. He’d gone to his class that morning, his students were progressing well, and he had plans for the evening. The last week had been blissfully devoid of bad guys. Everything was good, until he walked into his apartment and found Natasha sitting in his kitchen. 

He really should have been more surprised at finding her there but he wasn’t. At this point very little about Natasha’s sneakiness would surprise him. 

“You’re angry with me,” she said. Straight to the point. 

“I’m not angry,” he said, not pretending either, “I’m upset.”

“What's the difference,” she said, tilting her head.

“If I’m angry it means you did something wrong,” he explained, “if I’m upset it means it’s something I’m feeling inside. Nothing to do with you or anyone else.”

“This isn’t your fault, Steve,” she said, getting up to step closer to him, “you need to stop blaming yourself for every bad thing that happens. He’ll come back, I know he will.”

“How can you be so sure,” he said, exasperated, “how is everyone so sure about my best friend when I feel like I don't know him anymore, at all.”

“You’re too close. You’re so wrapped up in your own world, you can’t see it,” she said, “you’re the tree Steve, and we can see the forest. You’re the tree, and you need to be the forest.”

“What if- what if I can’t be a forest?” He said. “I’ve always been a tree, I’ve always been a soldier.” He dropped his shoulders and his voice. “I don't know how to be alone.” He looked away, unable to keep eye contact, her eyes piercing. 

“You have to learn,” she said gently, touching his arm.

“And if he comes back and there’s no space for him?”

She squeezed his arm at that, and he looked at her again. “There’s always space in a forest.”

***

“You know, I told Tony I don't need a babysitter,” Steve said not looking up from his sketchbook.

“Maybe you should try telling Pepper,” Bruce said, sitting down.

“It’s been almost three months,” Steve said. “I’m doing fine.”

“Yes you are,” Bruce agreed, “but I could use the excuse to go out, get some fresh air, have a cup of coffee that’s not been sitting around for a few days...”

Steve smiled. “Sorry, I’m not really good company at the moment.”

“We don't need to talk,” Bruce said, “I like the quiet.”

They sat like that for a long time, Bruce ordering his coffee and slowly sipping it as they watched the people pass. 

Eventually though, Steve had to speak up. “They said there was a girl,” he said, “a few years back, when you still lived here.”

“There was,” Bruce said. “Betty.”

“Ross’s daughter,” Steve said. “Was she- did you two match?”

“Soulmates? Yeah,” Bruce said. “We knew pretty much from the start we had something special.” He shrugged. “It didn’t really work out though.”

“Because of the Hulk?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, it’s safer for her this way,” Bruce said. “She wanted to be involved. She was always hands on but with the Hulk it’s not really- we were matched, but we weren't right for each other, you know what I mean?” 

“Maybe in another universe,” Steve said, changing his position.

Bruce laughed. “Maybe.”

“Does the Hulk see in color too?”

Bruce's brow creased. “You know, you're the first person to ask me that,” he said. “The other guy only sees in tones of green. Instead of black and white everything is green-tinged.”

Steve nodded. “Do you think he has one?”

Bruce shrugged. “Maybe,” he said again, “it’d be hard to find her, let alone make it work.”

“And are you happy?” Steve asked, focusing on his lines. 

Bruce tilted his head and pursed his lips as he considered this carefully. “I’m content. Sometimes I’m happy and sometimes I have bad days, but I’m content.”

“How did you let her go?” he finally asked, the question eating at his insides. “If you were matched how did you get over her?”

“I know she's better off this way,” Bruce said, “she's happier, it's her choice and I respect that.”

“What if she finds someone else?”

“Then she'll be happier still,” he said, “she deserves happiness, and I can’t give that to her. If she finds someone else that makes her happy then that's good.”

Finally, Steve put down his drawing, tearing the page out and handing it to Bruce. 

“I don’t think the other guy is a monster,” Steve said. “I think he’s just lonely.”

Bruce looked at the sketch of the Hulk and back to Steve. “I think you’re probably right.”

***

Steve wasn't asleep. This wasn't anything new. He was just contemplating to get up and have an extra early start to the day when he heard someone at the door. Not exactly knocking, but not attempting to be quiet. 

He was out of bed and at the door in seconds, shield in hand. He couldn't see anything through the peep hole so he opened the door in a rush, ready to defend himself if he had to. 

Instead he found himself with armfuls of Bucky who was unable to hold himself up. He was covered in blood and the metal arm didn’t look right, like if Bucky let it go it might fall off.

Steve pulled him in and slammed the door shut with a foot, before adjusting his hold so he could carry Bucky inside. He took him to the bed, pulling the covers off and using the sheet to clean off some of the blood. One particular spot made him groan and Steve realized it was the actual wound so he kept the sheet pressed there with one hand while he reached for his phone. 

He called Natasha. “I need Bruce,” he told her, “and maybe Tony. Bucky is here, he’s hurt. There’s blood, and the arm- they need to be here.”

“Half an hour,” she said, “keep pressure on the wound.”

“I don’t know if he has that long,” Steve replied.

“We’ll be there,” she said, “soon, just hold on.”

They made it to Steve’s apartment in ten minutes. Bruce was already on his knees, gently nudging Steve’s hand aside as he took over. Tony hung back for a moment before stepping in, pushing Steve behind him. 

He ran his fingers over Bucky’s metal shoulder, before finding the spot he was looking for and pressing. There was a click and the arm pulled away. Bucky let out a sigh and relaxed, just a little.

“What did you do?” Steve demanded.

“You said something was wrong with the arm,” Tony said, “I was just-”

“Why did he do that?” Steve asked. “What did you do?”

“You said something was wrong with the arm,” Tony repeated. “With the increased sensitivity it was probably causing more pain than he needed to be in, so I took it off.”

“Increased sensitivity?” 

“Yeah,” Tony said, uncertainly. “The condition of me looking at the mechanism of the arm was that I had to increase sensitivity. I thought he’d tell you.”

“He didn’t,” Steve said, glancing at Bucky.

“Maybe we can talk about this some other time?” Bruce said. He had a pair of long tweezers and Steve had to look away. 

It looked like Bucky hadn’t even been wearing a vest. Steve walked out to the living room, resisted the urge to throw things. He put his hands on his hips and tried to remind himself to breathe. 

“Out,” Natasha said, putting a hand on his arm and tried to pull him along. He pulled out of her grip without any effort. 

“I have to stay with him,” he said. 

“He’s not awake to know any different,” she said. “We won’t go far, just outside. Bruce and Tony will stay here, they can keep an eye on him.”

When he didn’t budge, she tilted her head. “He will still be here when we come back,” she said gently.

He dropped his hands, grabbed a jacket from the rack by the door and followed Natasha downstairs, until they were standing in the open air. The snow was almost all melted, but there was still a chill in the air, enough of a bite to make him wish he’d brought a scarf. 

“Feel better?” Natasha asked.

“A little,” he replied then took a breath, letting the cold seep into his lungs. 

“I thought you wanted him to come back,” she said.

“I did, I do,” he said, “but not like this. How did he even know where I live?” 

“He’s a spy and you weren't hiding,” she said.

“What if he leaves again?” 

“That’s for later,” she said. “He came to you, he’s injured and vulnerable and he could have gone to the Tower but he came to you.”

“Why?” Steve asked, feeling himself starting to unravel again. 

“Because you’re his friend,” she said. “You promised you would be there for him. Forget all that other stuff, just be there for him.”

He only had to contemplate it for a second before relaxing. “How did you get so good at this?”

He regretted it the moment he said it. She retreated back into herself, taking a step back and crossing her arms, suddenly seeming small. 

“It’s what I’d want,” she said. She took a step forward and fiercely poked him in the chest. “He cares for you, more than he lets on. Take care of him.”

She was gone before he could reply, turning and melting into the shadows. 

***

Bruce and Tony left soon after, having done everything they could. Tony took the arm with him, and Bruce promised to come back the next day to check in.

Bruce assured him that Bucky was just sleeping now, so Steve bunked down on the couch and tried to get some sleep. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night, but no matter what he did, sleep eluded him. 

Finally, when the sun was fully risen, he pushed himself up and peeked into the room. Bucky was still sleeping but he’d shifted positions. He had bent one knee outwards, and his hand was placed on the opposite, wounded side. 

Steve gently closed the door before sending a quick text to Bruce to assure him nothing had changed. Then he called work and took an indefinite leave. The boss, Helena, was very understanding if a little baffled at the meaning of family emergency in relation to Steve. 

He tried to explain as best as he could without compromising Bucky. When she’s accepted his leave, he went to make breakfast. 

He ate in silence, contemplating his next move. He couldn’t leave the house, didn't want to, in case Bucky woke up and he wasn't there. He found there was nothing he really wanted to do besides wait.

So he grabbed a notebook and some colored pencils, pulled a chair in from the kitchen and settled in for the day. 

Bucky didn't wake up until midday. He jerked in his sleep and suddenly sat up. It hadn’t occurred to Steve that this could be a trap until now, until he caught the look in Bucky’s eyes. Then Bucky's body relaxed and he winced, grabbing at his side. 

He lay back down, slowly this time, and sighed. “Morning,” he mumbled.

“It’s almost afternoon,” Steve said.

“Just one bullet?” Bucky asked, still staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah, and at least one more in the arm,” Steve said, his notebook forgotten on the ground by his chair. “Tony has it.”

“Look,” Bucky started, “I know I owe you an explanation-”

“We talked about this,” Steve interrupted, “you don't owe me anything. I’m going to call Bruce to tell him you're awake.”

He walked out before Bucky could reply. The call to Bruce was brief. He told Steve to hang tight and he was on the way. When Steve turned around he found Bucky standing at the bedroom door, clutching his side. 

“You should be in bed,” he said. 

“I’m fine,” Bucky replied. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

Steve had a moment of deja vu, of standing in the hospital and saying something similar. 

“You shouldn't have to now,” he said. “You should be resting, at least for when Bruce comes to see you.”

“I got blood on your sheets,” Bucky finally said, resting his metal shoulder on the door frame. Despite his insistence that he was fine, he was starting to look pale. 

“Come on, lie down on the couch,” Steve said, moving forward, “I’ll change them for you.” He directed Bucky to the couch, helped him settle down and left to work on the bed. 

The sheets were pretty much ruined, and he was going to have to replace the mattress, but the blood was dry and with a new layer of sheets, the new mattress could wait. Next he went to the kitchen and he was about to start making something to eat when Bruce arrived. 

Bucky was dozing but they managed to convince him to move back to the bed, where Bruce was able to get a better look at the damage. 

“You were extremely lucky,” Bruce said. “The bullet only hit muscle, and it missed all the major organs. You’ve lost a lot of blood, but I think with proper rest you should be able to fully recover. It takes about three weeks in a normal person, but you heal faster, right?” 

Bucky nodded and didn't meet anyone’s eyes. 

Bruce wasn’t fazed. “I’ve changed your bandages and it doesn't seem infected. I’ll come by again tomorrow and then probably less often after that, depending on how you’re doing.”

“Do you know when I can get my arm back?” 

Bruce shook his head. “Tony’s working on it but they did a number on it, he’s been in his workshop since we got home.”

Steve walked Bruce to the door, but before leaving Bruce hesitated. “How are you doing?”

Steve smiled. “I’m not your patient here, doc,” he said.

“I know,” Bruce said. “You're my friend. How are you doing?” he repeated.

Steve's smile softened at that. “I’m okay,” he said. “We have some things to talk about, to sort out, but I think we’ll be alright.”

“Don't leave it too long.” Bruce said. “It’ll help him too.”

Steve nodded and Bruce left. He paused at the door for a long moment after Bruce was gone, thinking over his next steps. He decided that now was the time. He couldn't go through another sleepless night and Bucky - well, Bucky had already tried to talk to him.

He went to the kitchen to finish making lunch and marched to the bedroom, sandwiches in hand like a peace offering. 

Bucky propped himself up on the pillows and bit hungrily into his. Steve picked at his but he didn't feel like eating just yet. 

“I think I’d like to hear an explanation,” he finally said, “if you’re still willing to tell me.”

Bucky put his sandwich down, and looked squarely at Steve. “I went back to taking down Hydra bases. There were a couple here in New York, and some others in the surrounding areas. I was based here though, I had a place. Not like this, not really, and I was on my way back there when I got attacked. I guess they didn't really like what I was doing, and it's not like I'm easy to miss.”

“It’s because you walk around with all your sleeves cut off,” Steve said with a small smile. 

Bucky smiled back and it felt good to see that. Steve felt something inside him start to relax. 

“Why come here?” Steve asked, looking away. “Why not go to the Tower, or the hospital?”

“Because you’re here,” Bucky said, and went back to his sandwich. 

Like it was that simple. 

***

It was four days later when Tony brought back Bucky’s arm. 

Steve watched as Tony talked to Bucky, as if this was familiar. He would run a hand down the metal arm and pause. 

"How's that?" he asked. 

Bucky nodded. "Good," he said. 

"Now flex your elbow," Tony said.

Bucky did as he was told. 

"Good," Tony said, "now your fingers."

Bucky did, one by one. "This one," Bucky said, "it's off."

Tony nodded and opened up a panel, tightened something inside. "Try now."

The fingers flexed and Bucky nodded. "Better."

"Good," Tony said, and slapped him on the metal shoulder as he got up, just where it connected to skin. 

"Asshole," Bucky muttered, without much heat. 

Tony grinned back and packed away all of his things. 

Tony was long gone and Bucky was flexing and un-flexing his metal fingers when he tentatively looked up at Steve and away again.

“Could you-” he started, not looking away from his fingers, “would you be able to paint on the arm?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. He was only listening with half an ear, too focused on his shading. “You want me to touch up the star? I noticed one of the bullets grazed it.”

“I want you to paint over it,” Bucky said and Steve stopped, looking up to find Bucky looking back at him.

“Over it?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, shrugging with one shoulder, “the red star, it’s not really me. I know you’ve been drawing new designs, I was thinking maybe one of those.”

Steve smiled at that. “I thought I was being subtle.” He handed his notebook over, and let Bucky go through the pages. 

They sat in silence for a few moments and then Bucky looked up. “This one.” He turned the pad around and pointed to a single wing curved at the base, similar to the ones on Steve’s helmet. “This used to be on my jacket.”

“Yeah,” Steve said sheepishly, “kinda selfish of me though.”

“No, this is the one I want.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, still hesitant. 

“Yes,” Bucky said, then, when Steve didn’t look convinced. “If I don't like it we can change it.”

Steve finally nodded. “I’ll get my paints.”

He got up and left, and when he came back he pulled his chair close to the bed and settled in, brush in one hand and the pallet in the other.

Bucky fell asleep while Steve was sealing the paint, which gave him a chance to explore the arm better. The star seemed to have been engraved in, the metal itself was red. He wondered if it was possible to sand it down, or if they could replace the whole section. He'd need to ask Tony at some point.

When everything was dry he pulled the covers up, and pushed a strand of hair out of Bucky's face. He looked so young when he was asleep, it was hard to believe they'd been through so much. Steve wanted to slide into bed next to him but he knew that was not an option right now. 

He turned the light off and went to the couch. He remembered Sam, at what now seemed ages ago, asking what he wanted, and Bruce telling him he was content. 

His sleep that night was restless and he woke up an hour before sunrise. He went to check on Bucky and instead of leaving again he decided to stay, sitting in the now familiar chair and watching. 

The next time he woke up it was to Bucky shaking him gently and rolling his eyes. Steve couldn't bring himself to feel ashamed, and the crick in his neck would be gone by lunchtime. 

He followed Bucky to the kitchen and watched him start preparing dinner.

 

***

At one week Bruce told Bucky he could get off bed rest but shouldn't exert himself. He and Steve went for walks around the neighborhood and Steve showed him all his haunts. 

When they made it to the gym, Helena looked at him knowingly as she shook Bucky’s hand. “So this is the family emergency?” she asked. “I’d want to take time off too.”

Bucky’s eye’s widened but Steve cut in before he could say anything. “It’s not like that,” he said. “Bucky is still healing.”

“Right, of course,” she said. “So can we expect you to come back any time soon?” 

This time it was Bucky who cut him off. “Yes,” he said. “He should be back next week.”

It didn't come up again until hours later, at the end of the night, cups of hot cocoa in each of their hands. “Listen,” Steve started, “I don't think it’s a good idea for me to go back to work.”

“Sure it is,” Bucky said. “You can’t sit here and watch me forever. Going out and getting back into a routine will be good for you.”

Steve still wasn't convinced, searching Bucky’s face. 

“Look,” he said, “you can't babysit me all day, I’m not going anywhere, not like this.”

“And what are you going to do when you're fully healed?” Steve asked.

“You’re ruining the moment here,” Bucky said, curling both his hands around his cup.

“I need to know, Buck,” Steve said. “We can only stay in limbo for so long.”

“I don't know what I want to do,” he said. “I want to stay here with you but they're still out there, I can't rest knowing that. There might be more people like me, more experiments. You should see the files they have, the research-”

“That's not what you said last time.”

“Last time-” Bucky put his cup down and spread his hands, trying to hold an invisible shape, an idea. “It's just that being around you was- _is_ too much. It's overwhelming sometimes, but I've come to realize that’s not a bad thing. I thought I wanted to be alone, that I could go back to being by myself, but I can't, I don't want to.”

“So what now?” 

“Now I stay,” Bucky said, hands flat on the table now, “and we go slow. We start over from this point, together.”

“Start over,” Steve said, trying to not sound disappointed. 

“Not like that,” Bucky clarified, “not from zero just, from here, like this, like we have. And we go slow.”

Steve nodded. “I can do slow.”

Bucky smiled, and Steve felt a spark of happiness at the sight. “Hopefully not too slow,” Bucky said, “we should start with a new bed.”

Steve laughed at that. “You did ruin my mattress.”

“I am not sorry in the least,” Bucky said, grinning. 

Steve couldn't stop smiling. This was all the pieces falling together. This was happiness.


End file.
